Valencia Hart
Valencia Hart’s Backstory Valencia (aka Val) was born into the Avarice family, a very wealthy family who had made their fortune in The Capitol. This is a tale of her family, her childhood, and the events leading up to the start of her journey of self-discovery. Patrick Avarice - The Beginning The royal family had long been making their fortune off of producing coins and taxing trade within the city but Patrick Avarice found his own way to make his fortune in the richest city in the world. That golden goose, was human ignorance. When he first arrived in the city as a young man, he found money to be made in underground fighting. It was a black market activity but it was one everyone for the most part knew and accepted. He would find the richest man in the room and use his charm to convince the guy to go big on whomever seemed to be the clear winner. Then he would bet on the other guy and ensure he won. From poison to a flash of light in the right direction at the right time, those with money on them fell and Patrick Avarice walked away with full pockets.' Moving onto bigger fish to fry Patrick bought his first warehouse at the age of twenty. He divided the warehouse into sections, a place to eat, a place to sleep, and a place to work. He called it his workhouse. With the promise of work and a roof over their head he filled the workhouse to the brim with those looking to make a living in The Capitol. It seemed like a great deal, you could earn a living pressing coins for Mr. Avarice and were provided a place to sleep and food to eat. A deal so great many hopeful people grabbed onto it and Mr. Avarice was able to build three more workhouses by the time he was twenty-two.' But Patrick was a cunning man, he knew he had to keep his workhouses full and keep cost of pressing coins as low as possible. So those working in his workhouses made just enough that at the end of the week they were just able to cover the cost deducted from their pay to provide them with shelter and food. Due to the demanding hours needed to just get by most people that started work in one of these workhouses very rarely ever came out. This kept rumors of the harsh conditions in the workhouses to a minimum. To further ensure his reputation remained high those who “kept the peace” would be rewarded with better meals and less hours while maintaining the same pay. These “honorable workers” would report to Mr. Avarice who was a potential risk to his name and those individuals would be corrected be it through cuts in their pay or “accidents” that left them disabled or in rare cases, deceased.' When Patrick Avarice reached the age of twenty-five he put his money to use campaigning for David Heralt. ''Patrick Avarice - The Rise Mr. Heralt was a representative of the common man, earning his money through trade at the city’s ports and was living proof that any man could find success in The Capitol. David Heralt was running to be a member of the Dictoriate, a group of individuals that assisted in the passing of laws under the royal family. He wanted to ensure everyone had a fair chance to make a life for themselves in the city and wanted to keep a divide from forming between the haves and the have nots.' However, despite having a fair sum of money he did not have the vast amounts of his competitors. He quickly found he had little chance of winning an election without support, and that is when he met Patrick Avarice. A man younger than himself by nearly a decade but one far, far richer than he. After a talk he came to respect the man for he too had come to this city and made a name for himself in what seemed like a noble manner. On the outside Mr. Avarice was a charming, good looking young man that had managed to build an empire while providing homes and food to those who needed it. It was unknown to Mr. Heralt the terms under which those homes and meals had been provided. With the promise of a better future for the common man, David and Patrick shook hands and proceeded to spread the word of David’s ambitions.' Patrick Avarice had seen value in David’s goals and the benefit it would be to have member of the Dictoriate on his side. Due to how the Dictoriate functioned any citizen of The Capitol could propose a bill to be voted on. It was simply up to the Dictoriate to decide if the bill was passed and what riders were attached to it. Then the representing member of the royal family would sign off on it if they found the bill agreeable. With this Patrick had a foot in the door and a mouth to speak on his behalf to get bills that would benefit him passed and ensure the expansion of his empire.' However it was halfway through the campaign that Patrick found another reason to support Mr. Heralt. Eliza Heralt, a youth in comparison, she was the age of seventeen when Patrick became interested in her. She had little interest in Patrick but returned his affection in respect of her father and his campaign. This however reached a boiling point when Patrick asked for her hand in marriage to which her father denied. He had respected Patrick but there was nearly a decade between the man and his daughter. On the night of the proposal Eliza went as far as to tell her father she had no love for the man.' Patrick however had his eyes set on Eliza and told Mr. Heralt if his daughter did not accept that he would take his funds and put it behind someone else. David felt defeated, if Mr. Avarice were to support someone else not only would it mean his own funds were cut off but his competition would be out of reach. After a few nights of debate, Eliza found herself in Patrick’s bed where she would remain for the rest of her years.' Eliza Avarice At the age of nineteen Eliza gave birth to a young boy named Thomas. He would live to see the moon go through three cycles before passing away. This loss broke Eliza and it was years before she laid with Patrick again. Four years passed before she had another child, a daughter by the name of Valencia. She raised her daughter with love but she remained distant. She was married to a man she did not love and had lost a part of herself when Thomas died in her arms.' When Val was three years old her mother took her shopping out in the town. After leaving a shop with a new hat on her head, Val smiled with her mother’s hand in her own. Without a word Eliza let go of her daughter’s hand and stepped out into the street in front of a horse drawn carriage. She was trampled to death without so much as a scream.' Valencia Avarice Without a mother she grew up in a man’s household. Unfortunately for her, her father had wanted a son. She spent most her days under the care of a nanny. The times she did spend with her father were during his trips across the country be it for business or leisure. He never remarried but he did occupy his time with other women. These “friends” of his would come and go and with them Val’s memory of them. But she never forgot the places they traveled to. She grew to love traveling and her times home with the nanny were spent talking about the places she had been and drawing what details she could recall.' As she grew older her father taught her the arts of turning a profit and defending herself in a world dominated by men. The city taught her Art... Whenever she had the chance she went out and explored the city. She almost always carried her canvas with her, painting people trading at the docks, a beggar on the streets, a Romeo calling for his Juliet. She would paint the world as she saw it and would often approach those in the painting when she was done and ask, “Would you like to remember today?” and give them the painting she had made for whatever they were willing to pay.' Hearing word of his daughter’s entrepreneurial ventures he sat her down and tried to teach her the value of the coin. “You can’t just go giving away your time and resources like that. If it weren’t for me providing you with your materials, and a roof over your head you wouldn’t be able to just give your work away.” He told her that if she was going to continue following her passion she was going to have to prove it was profitable, that she could cover her cost. So he gave her a canvas and enough paint to go at it one more time. If she was going to paint the world she was going to have to find her own way to continue doing so.' She went to her grandfather, David Heralt who was campaigning for a seat in the Dictoriate for the first time since his daughter died ten years prior. Young Val told him she was trying to cover the cost of her painting and that her father wouldn’t support her. David replied, “It seems your father’s greed has even turned him against his own daughter too. I’m sorry but I do not have the coin to support you, I need to focus on providing people a better tomorrow.” To which she replied, “I’m trying to paint today so that people will remember it tomorrow.” With that sentimental statement her grandfather got to one knee and placed his hands on her shoulders, “I was wrong to turn you away because I saw your father in you.” With a tear in his eye he tucked her long red hair behind her ear, “I almost forgot your mother is in you too.” He agreed to purchase her paintings from her and would place them next to him as he spoke to the crowds during his campaign. They were memories of those who lived there and a sign that Mr. Heralt cared for the common man as much as the wealthy. Like Patrick Avarice had done many years before, young Valencia gave him the support he needed to push his way to the top; and much like his daughter she had put the thoughts of others before herself.' David Heralt would serve one last term before dying at the age of fifty.' Valencia Harold At the age of fifteen Valencia was to marry a James Harold. An arrangement her father had put in place in order to provide him the connection he needed to The Harold family and their Novus Anima East Trading Company. When Val, now a young woman in the eyes society, went with her father to the port city of Shio she was none the wiser of what his intentions were. Upon arriving they did the usual activities, her father would meet with business partners and discuss the purchase of materials to send back to The Capitol and they would return to their home away from home to rest for the night. However, one night instead of returning to their own home Patrick had the cart stop at the gates of a large manor.' After being let in and brought up to the manor itself Val was introduced to the members of the Harold family. An elderly Richard Harold, his daughters Susan and Elizabeth, and his son James Harold. Richard had founded The N.A.E.T.C. and practically built the city of Shio off of its trade. His son James was next in line to take the mantle of the family and its trading company. Valencia enjoyed her time in the manor and was oblivious to young James’ flirtations for anything other than just that. It wasn’t until the trip back to The Capitol that her father let her know what he had in store for her future.' “Did you enjoy your time at Harold Manor?” He asked. Valencia acknowledged that she did enjoy her time there for what it was. “Good, you’ll be spending a lot more time there in the future.” Her father responded. “Oh, do we plan on visiting Shio often? I do enjoy their beaches. I’m dying to paint the sunrise over the ocean there.” Her father nodded, “You will have plenty of time to paint the sunrise after the wedding.” Valencia clapped in delight, “Oh a wedding I can’t wait! Is it for one of the Harold daughters? Susan perhaps?”' Her father sighed as his subtle hints weren’t being picked up by his daughter. “No, it’s a wedding for James Harold. He is to wed this fall.” Val simply nodded, “I see. Well that is good for him. He seemed like a nice young man. It’s unfortunate I didn’t get to meet his fiancée. I’m sure she’s lovely.” Her father simply nodded, “Indeed.”''' The cart remained silent for a moment before Valencia asked the question that would make things clear to her. “What is her name?” Her father responded, “Valencia.” She misunderstood his statement and thought he was asking for her attention, “Yes father?” He continued, “Her name is Valencia Avarice.” Her heart sank with the weight of bricks. She scrambled for the right words but she couldn’t find what to say. “I will hear nothing of it. You will be silent unless spoken to and you will be thankful for the life I have provided you. The Harold family is a renown one with much in their possession. You will live comfortably for the rest of your life and bare young Mr. Harold many children.” Her father continued but Valencia just sank into her seat and the darkness in her thoughts. She was to marry a man she had hardly met, to live in a manor for the rest of her life unable to explore the world she had always dreamed of. She was to be a pawn to be traded for good relations with a family of fortune. A housewife, and nothing more.' Valencia Hart She had just a few short months to think about her life to be. It wasn’t the worst of fates, she would still live a life of luxury, but at what cost? She would have no say in how she would live her life. She would have no say in who she loved. She would be a tool of trade for one man and a producer of heirs to another. She couldn’t help but think of her mother. Was this the life she faced? Was this why she stepped out into the street that day? She tried to shake off the gory visuals of that traumatizing day. Valencia realized that if she continued down this path, that if she allowed others to decide how she would live her life. Then she may very well end up living one as short as her mother’s, and with that thought in mind...she left.' Valencia had never lived on her own before. She had traveled yes but with the aid of her father and his staff. She had never had to think about what was needed to survive, how she would earn a living, how she would care for herself, how to keep clean. She hadn’t even had to pack her own bag before. With a blank stare into her closet she gathered what she thought she may need and then made her way out the window.' The Avarice Manor was a large one, with plenty of land and her father's staff between her and the gates. She went out at night when it would be harder to see her and made her way around the base of the house. Before she left she needed to get her bow, the one her father had taught her to use. She wasn’t much of a fighter but she knew she would need at least something to keep her safe from those who would wish her harm. So she made her way to the shooting range in the back of the manor and after a few close calls she managed to get her bow and make a run to the fence. Once there she threw her bag over and slid herself between the metal bars.' Valencia was free of her father’s home but she was far from out of reach. She needed to leave the city. If she stayed even one night, by morning her father would have half the city turned upside down in search of her. She found a road and followed it until it became a trail. Then she walked until the city was behind her, and then she kept walking until it was out of sight. She had only walked for a matter of hours but if felt like a lifetime. Every time someone had passed her by she felt like she was going to be caught and then once she was out of the city she was worried she may never be seen or heard from again.' That was the goal, wasn’t it? To never be seen again? No, no she did not wish to escape the world. She only wished to escape the world she had lived in and find herself a new one. She sat down and opened her bag. In total there were six dresses, a small bow, several paint brushes and colors to paint with, and an assortment of fruit she had picked from the kitchen earlier that day. Her nanny had stopped her asking what she was doing with a grin on her face. Valencia had replied with a fake smile, “I want to paint something different today.” Her nanny smiled and told her to have fun before going on with her usual duties. Valencia felt bad now knowing she had lied to perhaps the one person who had always looked out for her. She promised to make it up to her one day, but she knew deep down that she was never coming back to ever deliver on such promises. 'It rained the next day, leaving Val soaked in her delicate dress. She felt exposed as the white and yellow material of her dress changed to the color of her skin beneath it. All she had were these prim and proper dresses to wear. Nothing that would protect her from the harsh sun or pouring rain. She had always been provided with the latest fashionable wear not the most practical. She decided right then and there that the next town she got to she would sell what she had and purchase a new wardrobe.' At one point after the rain had stopped a man approached her from behind, “Miss?” She was paranoid and not sure what to do. She drew her bow but cursed her luck. In her rush to escape she had forgotten to grab any arrows. She kept her back to the man and hoped that the illusion of her being armed would be enough, “What is it?” She yelled back. The man stepped closer, “Are you alone?” He asked. His voice sounded sincere but she couldn’t tell if it was all a ruse. She lied, “No there’s a group of us. There’s thirty hulking men around the hill from here.” She cringed at the lie. She had always been so honest, even in her paintings she painted what was there not a story she had made up.'''' The man responded, “It’s okay. I’m not here to harm you. Here…” She shook but was too scared to move. Something warm wrapped around her. “You shouldn’t be traveling in a dress like that.” He said as he bent to one knee behind her. She gripped the blanket around her and turned to the man. He was an older man, possibly in his fifties. His skin was taut and you could see the bones and veins in his fingers. He opened his traveling bag and pulled out a straw hat placing it on her head. He stood throwing his bag back over his back ready to head down the road. “It’s not as fancy as that there dress you have but it should keep the sun out of your eyes and off of your skin.” She smiled and a tear ran down her cheek. The blanket was only a rag and the hat had seen better days with bits of straw sticking out here and there, but it was more than she had thought to receive. “Thank you.” She said as she wrapped the blanket tighter around her and the rays of the sun began to pour from the cloud above. The old man smiled, some of his teeth missing but a heart full of gold. “What’s your name little lady?” He asked. She thought for a second and thought of the kindness of the man. Then she responded, “Valencia Hart. But please, call me Val.” Category:Tales of Valentine